


Your name is Jamison Fawkes

by GreenhouseNurse



Series: Who you were. Who you are. [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Attempted Murder, Child Neglect, Childhood, Effects of Radiation, Fire, Gore, Memory Loss, Mental Health Issues, Murder, Non-Linear Narrative, Omnic, Origin Story, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Stabbing, i think thats the right tag, radiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-23 17:29:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7473186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenhouseNurse/pseuds/GreenhouseNurse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Junkrat. Your real name is Jamison Fawkes. You are missing an arm and a leg. You know fire and gunpowder and radiation. Your life is smoke and death.</p><p>You have a feeling that once upon a time you were someone else, but you can't remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. you are six

Your name is Jamison. You are six years old. That's almost an adult, you think. You might even be as tall as your dad in maybe two years. And then you'll be eight. You know that's the right number because you can count to ten and eight is two less than ten.

And less then eight is seven which you are going to be in two weeks. You asked your mum for that chocolate cake that she makes sometimes because it's the best. You also want to invite Eric and Tino over. You would ask for more friends over but everyone left in the weeks before. Your mum said it was for vacation but Mabel would have said so 'cause she's your best mate and she wouldn't leave without saying bye.

You also want dad to come to your birthday too, but he's been gone longer then your friends have. And mum hasn't said he's coming back yet.

When you go to the kitchen mum's at the table crying again. You think maybe you'll ask about the party later.

When mum's still crying hours later and dinner hasn't been made again, you think that maybe there might not be a birthday this year.


	2. you were seven and then you were nine

Your name is Jamison. You are nine years old when the world goes up in flames. You survive in the bunker beneath the house that your paranoid mother had built when you were seven. It was built the same year that you learned your father wasn't coming back. It was built the same year Tino's house was set ablaze from something orange and glowing that fell from the sky. It was built the year Eric's family was shot up by something large, something sentient, something monstrous.

You had watched as Tino's home was burning to the ground, him and his family already dead inside it. You had been only seven, to young to understand the scope of the situation, but even as a child you knew something big was happening. The day that fire had lit up the sky and smoke had filled the air, something had irreversibly changed. And when the news of your father's death had arrived two days later, your heart grew heavy as  your mother started building the bunker beneath the house.

You had watched from the window of your bedroom four months later a large Omnic lumbered down the road towards Eric's family car, as they pulled out of their driveway in an attempt to flee. You watched as it crushed the car, a hand clawing at the door, blood pooling, glass shattering, screams cut short. Silence.

And then somehow time flowed for you as if there was almost nothing in-between that night and nine. There were sounds and smells and lights that registered. The paranoid rants from your mother and long sleep cycles backed by insomnia.

And then you were nine and the world exploded in to hell-fire. You were able to watch from the broken window as the fiery cloud in the distance grew, until your mother, shaking with anger, dug her nails into your pale skin, and then dragged you down down down, deep into the earth. To the subterranean rooms that would be your home.

You already felt trapped.


	3. you are thirteen

Your name is Jamison. You are thirteen years old. You have spent four years of your life in a concrete prison beneath the earth with someone you once called your mother.

You wipe the blood from the knife you are holding, far to calmly for someone who just stabbed their mother fifteen times. It's only when you finally look down at her body again, that your fingers begin to twitch, and the air is suddenly not getting to your lungs. You killed your mum.  And she had tried to kill you first.

You can't breathe. The cracked grey of the bunker is suffocating and the walls are closing in. You are two inches from her and you want to be anywhere but here and you want your real mum and not this monster on the floor.

Your arms and legs are shaking and you can't breathe but you can't stay. You have to leave this place, you have to get to the stairs, you have to climb away from her, away from the bunker, away from the blood, because anywhere is better than here.

You think that maybe you will find a place up there that won't feel like drowning.

Maybe you won't feel like dying.


	4. you are sixteen

You go by Junkrat, however your real name is Jamie. Your full name is Jamison Fawkes but for some reason using that name makes you feel ill. You think you might be sixteen but you don't remember. In fact you don't remember a lot of things.

It isn't that you haven't tried. You really did. But trying makes it hard to breathe. It makes the world go black and the air leave your lungs and you feel as if you are dying. At first you tried a lot. You don't anymore. There are more important things than remembering. Like collecting loot left over from this man you just blew to bits.He really didn't leave much because your bomb was a little to explodey but a knife and a food parcel survived.

You leave the knife because something about it sets your teeth on edge and you already have your own. It's the only thing you've always had and though it's dull this new knife can't replace it. The parcel holds some stale bread and a tiny piece of chocolate. It's not even a full square and when you put it in your mouth it's rich taste has a memory clawing at the back of your radiation poisoned mind. The feeling poisons the flavor but before you can spit it out a teeth-rattling explosion tells you one of your traps has been set off.

That night after a day of looting bodies and testing new explosives you lay hidden in the ruins of what once a city. As you fall asleep a thought courses through your tired brain and you wonder if you once had a mother who would tuck you in for bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write and origin story for Junkrat because I remember reading somewhere he doesn't remember his childhood. Is it canon? Don't know, don't care.


	5. you are thirteen (but you aren't)

Your name is Jamison. You are thirteen years old. You are now a murderer and the blood of your mother is splattered across your clothes and drying onto your hands like ink. You are scrambling up the stairs to try to reach the surface and you can see the door. You can see it and maybe if you can find the strength to turn the metal lever you can find air to fill your lungs behind it.

Somehow your small stick arms claw it open and for the first time in four years you can see the sky again. Relief and the feeling of freedom, and maybe escaping everlasting claustrophobia, pushes air into your lungs violently. The sky is blood red, and the air makes your lungs and skin tingle in an odd way, but god you are free. 

You pick yourself up on shaking legs and you run. You run far far away where she can't follow, with her fists and her knives, and if you get rid of the blood no one will know.

As the blood red sky turns a violent stormy black you hide in the shell of what had once been your elementary school. Mrs. Pumble's classroom is mostly standing and you watch as the rain falls from the sky slightly glowing. You remember something Real Mother once told you when you asked where the freckles she had came from.

_"They are angel kisses love. When you are sad and alone they come and give you bunches of kisses so you won't ever be alone again."_

And when you had told her they looked like rain drops she had laughed and smiled, with her Real Mother smile.

_"Well, they have to get the kisses down to earth somehow Jamie. Rain is the best way."_

You look down at your hands stained with her and then you make a terrible mistake.

You step into the rain to try to wash away the blood and the loneliness. You hoped the angels would kiss your skin.

Instead the acid rain burned tiny dots into your flesh and you screamed.

And screamed.

And screamed.

 

 

 

_"You don't need the angels Jamie. Mummy will always love you. Forever and ever."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh hey look i broke the linear timeline  
> also hey look it ain't done


	6. you are fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -mentions of abuse, amputation, and cannibalism (not in depth just vaguely)-

Your name is Jamison. The others in this small group call you Junkrat thought because everyone here is named Junk because no one is special and you're the leftover trash. Also because you have a face like a rat. You turned fourteen two days ago. There is no party. There is no cake. There are no friends because friends get you killed..

Your skin healed messily from the angel kisses and you are surviving. If you keep surviving she can't find you. You sort of forget who she is exactly but you remember she comes with rage and pain and she took your leg and traded it for wood.

_"We need to eat you stupid boy. Bite down on the fucking rag and stop crying. So selfish. If you loved me-"_

You traded in for a metal leg as soon as you could and then burned the wooden one. Leaving it behind may clue her in to where you are. And whoever she is, you can't let her find you.

You think your life might be better now. Your only fourteen and yet you've lost count of the people you've murdered. You started out working with a knife- you don't remember where you got it- but it made you sick, and now you've discovered a talent for explosives. Fire and gunpowder are unpredictable and can destroy concrete to rubble and somehow it's freeing.

_"You want to leave Jamison? Leave me down here alone? After all I've done for you."_

It's knowing no one can hold you.

_"You disgusting ungrateful little prick."_

It's knowing you can't be hurt.

_"-mum please no! Don't-"_

It's bright and warm and incredibly strong.

_"Mum put the knife down-"_

It's you surviving. It's mother dying and you surviving...

 

You can't remember what you were thinking of just now. But judging by your labored breaths and the way the others are glancing at you, it's probably for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *if you feel junkrat didnt deserve this please scream at me in the comments*  
> Also i wrote the first four chapters piss drunk on Krupnik so that ain't bad.


	7. you are fifteen

Your name is Jamison. You are fifteen years old when someone calls you Jamie Fawkes and you stop and wonder if the older woman is talking to you. Her face is covered in the dirt and grease that attaches itself to everyone and it has worked its way into the creases and wrinkles on her face.

The gun, with an old locket strung around it, that was aimed at you before is now pointed at the ground but something in the back of your irradiated mind tells you this isn't an act of stupidity. Something also tells you that this isn't her. When you ask her who she is and tell her your last name ain't Fawkes, her face falls a little. You don't know why but you feel bad. You've robbed, you've killed, you've destroyed, but this old woman makes you want to love.

She says her apologies and tells you that you look like her grandson.

You could be her grandson. Jamison was your name. Maybe Fawkes was your last. And then again maybe it wasn't. Maybe once upon a time you were smaller and had memories of her and a wooden kitchen and pans of cookies that grandmas make. Maybe she gave you warm grandma hugs, and maybe the cookies were chocolate. Maybe she was one of those grandmas that had family recipes for their famous chocolate cakes and cookies. Maybe she loved you to the moon and back. Maybe she once called you Jamie.

But you would never know because as you took your hand off the trigger for your bomb, someone else pulled their trigger and small piece of metal makes her head explode like a melon.

Her limp body falls to the ground,the locket on the gun snapping open on impact. A little boy with blonde hair and pale brown eyes and dirt covered clothes smiles out from behind glass before a chunk of brain matter drips down splattering the glass.

You hear voices. You think someone is jostling you, speaking to you.

"Leave him."

It grows quiet and her body grows cold and you can't move because if you do it would mean leaving her.

In six years the cosmos has decided that you aren't deserving.

You've been stripped of a family-maybe-, you've had your leg taken, you had your memories removed, Jamison became Junkrat, and you probably won't live past seventeen.

But a woman you knew for three minutes loved you enough to give you a name.

Maybe it isn't yours, but Jamie Fawkes is dead so he doesn't need it. Not like you do.

Your name is Junkrat. You are fifteen when you slit the throats of all five of the men who were once your group. You loot what you can and blow the rest to kingdom come because this is who you are now.

You are also Jamison Fawkes, and you think it was him who kept digging for two days so that granny could be buried properly.

The rest of the world can have Junkrat, but Fawkes belongs to you.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it folks. That's all I got for now. I have shoe-horned in ever teen and child junkrat headcanon I have into one darn fic. One fucked up, evil, horrible story, and I did four chapter piss drunk. Holy fuckin' balls never again.


End file.
